


Shared Skies

by artsiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Community: deancasbigbang, F/M, M/M, Minor Violence, Omega Castiel, Prince Castiel, Prince Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2447036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsiel/pseuds/artsiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Southern Kingdom takes action to conquer the Four Kingdoms, it is up the Dean of Winchester, Alpha Prince of the West, to return order to the kingdoms. Is marriage to the Omega Prince of the North enough to stop on coming war, or will unknown forces bring about the end of peace between the four nations forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shared Skies

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first DCBB, it's over 10,000 words of creatively conjured stress and anxiety, and I'm in love with pretty much every word of it. My Beta was the lovely [Heidi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/r2metoo/pseuds/r2metoo)  
> , and the artist for the beauteous artwork was the talented [Serenada](http://serenada-art.livejournal.com/). I thank them both, and hope you enjoy~!
> 
> Note: Lucius is indeed Lucifer; the name fit better with the Norther culture, and I've seen other people use Lucius and names like it for Lucifer in AUs so I did the same. Sorry for any confusion~!

In all his sixteen years, this is the farthest Castiel has ever been from the capital city.

Though he is prince of Helathein, not once has he ever traveled farther than the city's outer walls. The journey from their capital to the western shores totalled ten days travel, most of which are spent traversing the snow crested mountains and hills of Vellwald and the surrounding cities of the north.

They chose to travel in the early summer months, much to their mother’s relief, as the harsh frost of winter are still present, but greets travelers with cooling winds and clearer skies. The procession makes its way through the farmland and forests stretching along their southwestern border. After nearly a week of passing through small, nameless villages, through miles of endless forest, the party takes repose in Elfden, the last northern city before the border, whose walls seemed as tall to Castiel as the peaks seen from the windows of his bedchamber, though his father has mind to assure him that it is not so.

The rest is short lived though, and within hours they are again on the move, advancing closer and closer to the very heart of Faymeth, to Merrivale and her fortified walls, and to the true purpose of their travels.

A purpose of which was obvious to Castiel since their trip’s announcement.

Castiel has never once questioned his place in the royal family. As the North’s youngest son and the only Omega child to be born in three generations, he is regarded as their most valued possession, one to be protected at all costs but never to be positioned where any stock could be placed in his opinion or decisions. Where his eldest brother, Michael, holds the natural regality and pride of a crown prince, Castiel was taught to bear the demure nature and manner of a figurehead better suited for life in court than meetings of war. Where Lucius and Gabriel train tirelessly with swordsmen and tacticians, Castiel faced an army of tutors, whose wits were sharper than any broadsword and quicker than any marksmen. 

By his breeding, it was expected of Castiel to be quiet and complacent as an omega should be, to speak when spoken to and keep his opinions hidden under a mask of calm indifference. This, despite the excitement of travelling with his brothers for the first time, of seeing such vast and foreign landscapes whose people and culture were new and fascinating and begged him to question and converse on their behalf, renders him calm, as he fights to quell his curious nature and play the role of the silent, young prince.

\-------  
They enter the city midday on their tenth day of travel. 

The first glance Castiel gets of Faymeth’s capital is of her high walls of stone that stretch wide and far around the city with sturdy battlements and more guards than the prince has seen in one place, each dressed in armour of leather and chainmail. They march back and forth on the wall, guarding Merrivale without pause even in the bright heat of high noon.

They approach the city’s main gate.The tall, strong iron bars are worn ember with years of service, though they stand straight against the gusting winds from the coast that are felt even within the carriages. The scent of salt in the air, thick and sharp in his nose is an unfamiliar thrill as it flows through the carriage windows. The horsemen and guards exchange a few words in a rough, clipped language Castiel knows more on paper than in practice before they are finally let into the city. 

Once the gates open, the prince is meet with the flourish of a bustling marketplace. Shops and stands line the streets, their owners and patrons shouting in loud voices for goods, mothers calling for their children and children playing amongst themselves with smiling faces and loud laughter. Sparks and clacks from the blacksmith can be seen and heard from the carriage windows as the scent of fresh breads from the baker fill Castiel’s senses. The people here are certainly much livelier, Castiel thought, than those who lived within the walls of his home. They exchange greetings with passersby naturally and go about their day with a rhythm that seems unique to Merrivale and her people, much unlike the northern natives who seem as cold as their surrounding and generally keep to themselves.

The people of Faymeth were simple by definition and reputation, known more for their willingness for battle and sport than for work in the fields of science and literature. Gabriel, the closest to Castiel in age and bond, had said as much as they made their way to the castle at the city’s heart, commenting often on the menial state of the natives’ clothing and the awed looks of some as their carriages passed by on the street. Castiel was enamoured regardless, with the city and her charm, and his brother’s words did more to increase his fancy than to dissuade it.

From their location in the city, Castiel could see the beginnings of the castle walls. They were as old and as worn as gate at the city’s entrance, prompting Lucius to add his own input on her “decaying regality”, rather than marvel at the artistry of her towers and spires. The structure was one out of a dream, straight from the stories his mother read to him as a child, the ones where strong Alpha princes rescued beautiful Omega maidens from their towers and sweep them away to happier lives. If he were to mention such a thing, Gabriel and Lucius would not hesitate to add their thoughts on such “child nonsense”, as they saw it.

“How are you feeling, Castiel?” Michael questioned from his place next to him, drawing the young prince from his thoughts of handsome knights scaling high, ivy covered castle walls. As the oldest, not much escaped Michael’s perception, especially when it came to matters regarding his youngest brother. As always, he was protective of Castiel, asking after his well being as if he could tell just by a glance the effect of Lucius’s and Gabriel’s teasing.

“I am fine, brother,” Castiel responded in a voice just above a whisper, hoping to end the inquiry there and stop any further concern from his brother before it could start. “As fine as one can be in my case,” he added when the crease in Michael's brow didn’t let up.

This seemed to be the right response, or rather the response Michael prefered hearing, as the eldest Alpha reached acrossed the seat and placed his hand upon the Omega’s, offering a comforting grin.

“We’re almost to the castle. You’ll rest soon”

"Rest, ha!" Gabriel snorts, adding a pat to Castiel’s knee. "Well, brother, he may be on his back, his eyes may even be closed, but I doubt there will be much ‘rest’ going on." 

“It will certainly be a new form of piety for our brother,” Lucius smirks. “Nothing brings God to a man’s lips quite like—”

“Gabriel! Lucius!” Michael barked. “Peace! Peace, I pray you both.” He rolls his eyes at Castiel, grimacing ever so slightly. “Such talk is unseemly and wholly inappropriate!” 

His voice is joined by the uproarious laughter of Gabriel and Lucius, and the sound in the carriage soon becomes an odd mix of uncouth heckling and civil reprimands.

Castiel remains silent.

\-------  
When the Northerners arrive in the Capital, Dean makes it known he will not be there to greet them. 

From the moment he caught his first glimpse of the precession from his place in the castle’s northernmost tower, he had known the party’s purpose and had made clear his thoughts on it. Dean was no fool. He knew his place as crown prince, first in line for the throne as a result of his father’s recent passing. He was trained in all manners of weaponry, in strategies and politics, in the culture and way of his people. He was a scholar as much as he was soldier and in no way was he blind. He knew the sight of a proposal of marriage, all coated in the decadence of wealth and power, when he saw one.

Marriage.

It was that very theme that drove the young prince from his home and away from the castle as quickly as his stead could carry him, moving without destination or intent other than not being there when the strangers made their way through her gates.

He rode for hours, passing swiftly through the plains and forests of his kingdom, hood adorned close to his face to deter onlookers. He rode toward a coast he had only seen on maps and in dreams after his father returned from travels with stories of battle but also of adventure, rode until the sun was many degrees higher in the sky than when he had left and the heat from it was almost too much to bare.

Dean rode until the bitter tang of marital thought, measured by the inevitable and unavoidable bondage of two unwilling parties forced to wed for duty and country, is too much for the prince to stomach.

“Halt!” a stern voice calls from ahead, pulling the prince from his thoughts. Two soldiers from the royal guard, barring the solar crest of the castle upon their shoulders, block his path, forcing Dean to follow their orders. His hood had fallen in his haste to stop, revealing his face to the two men. They bow their heads when Dean meets their eyes.

“Your majesty,” the first guard says with a trembly tone, nervous in the presence of the crown.

“Speak your purpose.” Dean’s tone is clipped and forced, his anger and frustration shown in the tight grip he holds his reins and the squaring of his shoulders. He pondered briefly the idea of ordering the horsemen away, but then remembers his word now carried far less weight than that of the council. The thought only furthers his poor mood.

“Our apologies, my prince, but Sir Richard requests your presence at the castle. The matter seems urgent,” the guard spoke in as steady a tone as he could muster when faced with the prince in such a mood. 

A moment of silence passes between the men, the guards fidgeting nervously under the intensity of Dean’s glare, before the prince turns abruptly and rides towards the capital and his fate.

\-------  
The room is filled with more people than Castiel had ever seen in one place.

All around him there is excitement and movement, richly dressed lords and ladies of the court lined the walls of the room, their voices echoing off the high stone and surrounding the family with their curiosity. 

They stared at the newcomers, almost all of whom were dressed in traveling attire, in sturdy trousers and long skirts of dark blue and tops of muted hues with sleeves much too long for the humid weather, as though it were the first time they had ever seen such a sight. And in a way it was. The presence of someone like Castiel in Faymethian Court, in any royal court, was a rarity and the sight of him, especially as he bore not only the crescent and tri-feather of the North but the mark of his kind, seemed to be the focus of most, if not all of their chatter. Omegas were scarce. Omegas of royal blood were nearly unheard of. 

“Would you look at them, it’s as though the cirkus were in season!” Gabriel murmured quietly from his place next to Lucius, though not quietly enough to not to be overheard by the rest of their family, prompting sighs from both Michael and their father, and stifled laughter from their other brother.

“Fie brother, a cirkus?” Lucius whispered in the same amused tone, “We’re more of a karneval, a verligt even.”

“Would that not make you the trained apes, brothers?” Castiel retorted under his breath, his voiced carried by the same walls to the waiting ears of his brothers and parents, adding quiet laughter to the room as a flourish of horns announced the beginning of the viewing.

If asked, the smile that now graced the young prince face was one of politeness, and not at all due to the rare sound of his father’s laughter.

The noise of the room quieted to a faint, nearly inaudible hush as a squire made his way to the center of the room. 

The throne room of Winchester Manor was large and open. The walls wide with vast windows facing the shore and stone verandas overlooking what was either a wood or a garden, though Castiel could not be sure of either from this distance. Long, rich drapes of ruby fabric hung from multiple points about the space. Sturdy wools drawn back at the windows, plush velvet lining the winding staircases. At the rooms ahead, rich silks and satins embroidered with gold arranged about the thrones just underneath the staircases’ center. 

There were four seats in all, one for each member of Faymeth’s current ruling family. The two grander chairs were placed in the center, marked clearly for the kingdom’s king and queen, each donned with gold and gems that sparkled brilliantly in the afternoon sun. To left of the richer of the two, the King’s throne, sat a slightly smaller, though in no way inferior, seat reserved for the couple’s eldest son, to the right of the other rest a smaller, more modest chair for the youngest son. Each was unoccupied, and it seemed as though they had been for quite some time, though two nobles, a lord and a lady, both of whom wore a ringlet of golden thorns about their heads, stood closer to them than the rest of the crowd. The squire acknowledged them before he spoke, his voice a booming baritone filling the room.

“Presenting Charles the Wise, Alpha of the North, King of the Kingdom Helathein, his mate Noami the Just, Omega of the North, protector of the innocent, and their sons; Michael, eldest and Alpha heir to the Northern throne, Lucius, advisor to the royal armed forces and Alpha heir presumptive, Gabriel, Alpha mate to Kali of the Eastern Isles, and Castiel, Omega prince and betrothed to Prince Dean of Winchester, heir to the throne of the West.”

Each family member took a step forward and bowed deeply before the court as they were presented by title, coming to again form a line as they waited for acknowledgment from a member of the ruling party. 

“Wir begrüßen Sie Freunde” the voice that greets them is rough in the way that one’s voice is when speaking a language that is not their own, though the tone is hardly unpleasant, and it draws the family to stand. “The Kingdom of Faymeth welcomes you with open arms.”

Before them stands two persons of status, one a tall woman whose auburn tresses are pulled away from her smiling face and crafted into braided bun, the other a shorter, dark haired male whose smile seemed more wicked than welcoming. They approach the Northerners as if the ballroom were their own, the woman’s skirt flowing behind her in precise movements and the clicks of the man’s boot heels audible against the stone floors. Both carried a way about them, as if they were making a deal of some sort rather than greeting foreign nobility, and were it not for the mark of the King’s Watch adorned on their clothing than Castiel would have seen no reason for his family to remain in the courts any longer.

The pair stopped in front of Charles and bowed lowly, the female now taking the opportunity to speak, “I, Sir Abaddon, Captain of the King’s Watch, War Advisor, and leader of the Western Armies and my brother, Duke Crowley, Political Advisor and Cofferer to the Crown, welcome the North into our home.”

“Vi är lyckligt uppfyllda.” Charles accepts the welcome and returns his own in the North’s native tongue, before giving the nobles a moment of reprieve. They both rise to their full stature, and from this distance Castiel can tell that they are both Beta. There was a nature about them that reminded the prince of his tutors, hard witted and straight edged but without the slight sense of submission he was used to. 

“Are we not to meet the prince? It is rather unseemly to accept visitors into a home you do not own, no?” The King’s speech is impassive, though the nature of his words betray his tone. Naomi seemed as unimpressed, her hand gripping Charles’s elbow and her face set in a blank, if not judging, stare. 

“Apologies, my Lord,” Crowley responds with a strained grin on his face, “but the prince is away at the moment on royal business and is unfortunately unable to greet you. I’m sure he will return soon if given some ti-”

His discourse is halted by the crash of wood on stone the echoes loudly throughout the hall.

The occupants of the room all turn to the origin of the noise, the wooden and iron doors at the room’s entrance, and are meet with the sight of their prince flanked by two men of the guard. All but one rush to bow on bended knee before his highness.

The one being Castiel.

The young prince had heard tale of the heroics Dean of Winchester had exhibited on the battlefield, of his marksmanship and precision with a blade at such a young age, as well as the kindness and love he shows his people, and the love and respect they show in return. All rumors surrounding the Western prince, however, did nothing to prepare Castiel for being in his presence for the first time.

He was tall, even from across the large room Castiel could see that, and broad like all Alphas, with cropped hair the colour of honey and wheat and freckles dusting his cheeks and forehead like the stars Castiel had spent so much time admiring as a child. His eyes, the same shade of green as the grass in the springtime, meet Castiel’s as they scan the hall. There was a beat, in which the room seems to empty of its occupants save for the two princes, before the older royal begins to make his way toward the room’s center and toward Castiel himself, seeming to move in a daze. Were it not for the insistent tugging on his sleeve by Michael besides him, the Omega may have continued to forget himself.

“My apologies Alpha-,” Castiel fell to his knees in a rush of embarrassment as the older prince finally makes his way to the group, his face so hot with chagrin that the Omega could feel it on his neck as he bowed his head. From this distance, Castiel could smell Dean’s scent clearly, picking out the familiar underlying smell of alpha beneath that of worn leather and a stinging sharpness that Castiel can only assume is salt from the sea. 

The combination heats his face further.

Castiel wonders what his felt like in Dean’s and can feel the flush on his cheeks increase. The Alpha looks as though he wants to speak, to perhaps comment on Castiel’s state, but is interrupted before he can even begin.

“Ah, Your Majesty, how good of you to join us. As you can see, King Charles and his mate require an audience with you,” Crowley’s tone and words draw Dean’s attention away from Castiel, though his hand stays clasped in the Omega’s, “And, if you have not forgotten, Sir Richard requested your presence early this morn. Let’s leave the rest of our guests to settle as attend to your duties, hm?”

The Alpha seems split between remaining beside Castiel and following Crowley’s suggestion. The insistent ‘my lord’ called by the Duke behind him seems to decide it for him though, and Dean gives a last squeeze to Castiel’s hand before he turns away and follows the older nobles to another room further in the castle.

Castiel barely hears the teasing from his brothers as they are lead out of the hall to the corridor leading to their bedrooms over the sound of blood rushing through his ears.

\-------  
Dean locates Crowley in the strategy room after his talk with Sir Richard, entering in a bout of frustration.

The room is lined with shelves upon shelves of literature on the Kingdom’s history, depicting the great triumphs of King’s past and the losses suffered when action was not wisely took. Map scrolls accompany the tomes, borders and battle lines drawn on each detailing the past and current conflicts of the West. One such article was placed in front of the older Beta, the strategist studying the piece and marking it so intently that he seemed to take no notice of the Alpha’s entrance.

“What is the meaning of this!” Dean’s words are nearly a shout as he reaches the desk the cofferer sits at, slamming his hands on the wood in an attempt to draw his attention. It does little to even rouse the Beta.

“My, Dean, I was hoping you had enough sense to know what a betrothal was,” Crowley spoke with a haughtiness that never ceased to frustrate Dean, his eyes still flowing over letters on the paper in his hand, “Honestly.”

“When were you and the council planning on informing me of my own wedding, then? For I’m sure anytime in the last nineteen years would have been more opportune than this morning!” Dean’s fists clenched against the wood, his white knuckles and grinds his jaw, a clear sign of his anger. “This is insane! We have never seen each other before today, let alone spoken a word to one another and now we are expected to marry? He is but a child and-”

“As are you, or at least your frantic behaviour suggests as much.”

Dean growls low in his throat at the comment and Crowley’s flippant demeanor in regards to the situation. He leans closer to the other male, a threat, before declaring through gritted teeth, “You will delay the marriage.”

The demand catches the Beta’s attention and he finally looks up to meet the prince’s eyes. “I beg your pardon? Is that a order?”

“I am your prince-!”

“Yes, you are my prince but you are not my king,” Crowley states as he rises to stand from his seat, leaning over the desk in a similar challenging manner to Dean’s, “Kings are wed and mated to an Omega, crowned at Sonnenwende and blessed by the god Sunna himself. As you have none of this, I believe you have no leg to stand on nor throne to command from. I do not, and will not answer to you until then. This bonding between the Northern Omega and yourself means more to our people than petty things like companionship and courting, and I will be damned if I allow you to ruin it with your foolish declaration.”

Dean’s jaw sets tighter, the look of authority in his eye and challenge in his stance does not falter.

“You will delay the marriage.”

There is a tense moment between the two, in which Dean glares and Crowley scowls, before the Beta relents and the prince’s stubbornness wins out. He reclaims place behind the desk, back resting against the chair’s plush cushion and hand scrubbing his face with mild annoyance. Dean straightens up and relaxes his posture as much as he can manage.

“Fine, the Council can grant you a week’s delay to the bonding, no more. Will this suffice?” Dean gives a stern nod in agreement. “Good, now will you please leave me to my work?”

Crowley’s tone is as wary as his face and Dean leaves him without further disturbance, heading towards the library in hopes to find his brother and inform him of the news. His mind is so focused on his task that he doesn’t notice the person passing through the halls until he has already collided with it.

“Tyvärr! Förlåt, jag se- I mean sorry, I didn’t see you there!” 

Dean recognises his scent before he does Castiel’s voice, which carries a frantic mix of the sing-songy language the Northerners speak and the rough one of his own people. 

There’s the subtlety of omega underneath layers of other scents. The muck of long travel and salt from the wind and the unfamiliar smell of something the Alpha has yet to identify, and Dean is struck stiff by them. It is normal to tell one’s breed from smell, it’s how one can identify a foe from a potential friend, but recognising anything other than omega, beta or alpha in someone other than family was something entirely unique.

It was the sign of finding one’s true mate, and was what caused the Alpha’s mind to halt it’s thoughts of traversing the castle, and to replace them with those of short, raven haired omegas with shining blue eyes and baby’s breath pale skin, and plush lips that move rapidly as they rambled in front of him.

“Are you lost?”, he asks suddenly, cutting off the young prince’s stream of apologies. Dean’s voice is strained even to his own ears, as he fights to reign in his alpha nature and instinct. The pink hue that cover’s Castiel’s face in response does nothing to help with his plight.

Castiel nods shyly, “I was walking to the garden with my brother, but they seem to have gotten ahead of me.”

“I will take you to them,” the Alpha’s tone makes it sound more like a command than statement and he winces slightly, before attempting a more relaxed tone, “I mean I can…..if you would like.”

The Omega nods again and offers a small smile.

“Thank you, Alpha.”

Dean winced slightly at the use of the title, but chose to ignore it in favour of leading Castiel down the halls and enjoying the airy scent of content from the omega beside him.

\-------  
They do not see each other for nearly a week after their encounter, though Castiel wishes to believe its more due to the constant company of his brothers at all hours of the day rather than any reluctance on his or Dean’s part.

Regardless, the Northern prince passed his time with walks about the castle grounds and tours of the surrounding area. The winding halls of Winchester manor extended for what seemed like miles, leading up spiraling stone stairways to guard towers and down ancient corridors to rooms unused for what must have been centuries. Castiel’s own room, though large and comfortable, seemed to have been without occupancy for quite some time before his arrival. Despite being amidst the heart of such a bustling city, the castle had quite the garden, home to a such lovely variety of flora and fauna that Castiel seemed to spend all of his time there, admiring the blossoms during the day and the stars at night that enveloped the sky. They reminded him of home and of nights spent awake with Michael counting and naming the stars as they danced across the heavens.

It was there in the garden, staring up at the sky and sat in his summer finery, that Charles finds the prince on the night of his wedding feast.

“Are you ready, little one?” his father asked as he took a seat next to him. His face was graced with a small smile and was calmly set, though his eyes held the weight of fatherhood and all its burdens. It was look Castiel has seen a handful of times in his life, and it was something the prince would miss dearly when his family left.

Castiel responded the only way he could manage, a single nod and a returned smile. Charles pressed a kiss to his youngest son’s brow, before reaching for his hand and leading him back through those same vast halls.

\-------  
If any rumour about the people of Faymeth was true, it was the one about the excitement of their parties.

There was music and laughter and dancing far before Castiel was even introduced as Dean’s betrothed, which usually marked the beginning of such a celebration, or at least from Castiel’s knowledge it did, and the festivities had only increased as the night went on. Members of the Watch clamoured about drunkenly among the crowd of nobles who looked to be in varying states of intoxication themselves, all happily mingling in the torch lite banquet hall. From his spot he could see his brother interacting with natives, Michael engrossed in what seemed to be a riveting discussion with equally enthused noblemen, Lucius engaged in a bout of drinking with a member of the Watch nearly twice his size while Gabriel looked on and cheered with other knights. From the corner of his eye he caught the sight of his parents dancing slowly, soft smiles playing on their lips from the closeness they shared. This was the most relaxed he had seen them all for quite some time, and the sights brought a smile to Castiel’s lips as he watched.

Castiel, himself, preferred to stay away from the action, removing himself and finding a spot at the edge of the room from which to observe the festivities. He stood against a wall, fiddling with the the silver embroidery along the edge of the long billowing sleeves of his formal surcoat and sipping at the glass of mulled wine Gabriel placed in his hand the moment his mother’s attention was shifted from his wedding to the invitation to dance given by their father.

The prince was pulled from his reprieve by a tug on his sleeve. Looking for the source, Castiel found it came from a small boy, no older than ten, standing by his side. The child looked up at him with wide hazel eyes, long brown hair tied behind his head save for a few stray locks that frame his round face, and hand still wrapped around the fabric of Castiel’s sleeve. His clothing, though slightly modest as it was composed of a layered overshirt and plain trousers, were too richly made for the boy to be the child of knight. Perhaps he was the son of a noble.

“My name is Samuel, but you may call me Sam.” he pauses to release the fabric in his hand and bows quickly before continuing, “You are Castiel of the North. You’re to marry my older brother,” he spoke with such conviction in his voice that Castiel could not help but find his confidence on the matter amusing. 

“Oh, am I?” He chuckled a bit as he kneeled down to meet the child, Samuel, eye to eye, ”And how are you so sure of this?”

“My brother is the bravest, strongest knight in all the four kingdoms. He defeated an entire army almost singlehanded and protects our people. He’s a hero.” Samuel’s face lights up like torchlight as he speaks of his brother, a wide smile splitting his cheeks before he adds, “And he always reads the best books before bed and brings me sweets when I’m meant to be studying.” He giggles then, as if he’s just shared a precious secret, and Castiel smiles in return.

“Well, it seems as though your brother is the perfect mate then,” the prince laughs at the enthusiastic nod Samuel gives, “Would you mind giving me his name?” Before Samuel can respond, however, the boy catches the eye of someone behind Castiel and runs off after them. The prince is startled a bit at the boy’s haste, which only grows to confusion and then shock when he hears the child give out a shout of “Dean!” The Omega is quick to stand then, and is meet with the sight of the young boy clinging to Dean’s waist, speaking such rapid Faymeth that Castiel is unable to follow in his state of surprise.

“You weren’t pestering the guests were you, Sammy?” The smile on Dean’s face matches the one in his voice as he reaches to lift the boy, who Castiel realises is his younger brother, to hold against his hip. He laughs at the unamused look his brother gives him before leaning in to him as Sam cups a hand around his ear as he moves to whisper to him. The Alpha’s eyes flick briefly to Castiel as Sam speaks, and return with full attention when the boy is done. Castiel fidgets, wine sloshing in its glass, unsure what to do under such scrutiny.

“So, you’ve found Castiel, have you? Good work, I’ve been looking for him all night.” Dean commends Sam, though his eyes are on the Omega as he talks. He offers a grin to the Omega, which Castiel returns with a small smile and blush of his own. The reaction must have been what Dean was looking for, as his face brightens. The happiness in his scent, a warm layer of apple and cinnamon, mingles amongst the rest. “How are you, Castiel? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am enjoying myself quite a lot, thank you,” the blush on his cheeks reddens slightly, “ Your brother was just telling me stories of your great heroics before you arrived, actually. They were quite entertaining.”

The flush that now adorns Dean’s face is a bright pink, stretching from the tips of his ears to the bit of neck and collar that Castiel could see over his shirt collar. 

“Oh did he….”, he gave an amused look to his brother, who giggled in return. “Well perhaps its time for Sam to run off to bed then, hm?”

“But Älter- !”

“Go on, Sammy. Lady Mills would have a fit tomorrow if I let you stay up any longer. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” The youngest prince gives a huff of annoyance, before agreeing with a reluctant nod of his head. The older teens chuckle.

“That’s what I thought,” Dean ruffles Sam’s hair and presses a brief kiss to his forehead before placing him on his feet again, “Go on, I’ll be up soon, okay?” Sam nods and turns to bow quickly in farewell to Castiel, which the Omega returns happily, before leaving the two alone. 

The couple spend a majority of the night after this point engaged in light conversation. They get along nicely and their dialogue flows easily from one subject to another. Castiel is unsure how long they spend bantering back and forth but it is long enough that he feels a tinge of disappointment when Dean catches the eye of someone across the room, halting their exchange abruptly.

“It seems as though someone wants our attention,” Dean places the glasses of wine they have been nursing for some time on a nearby table, before offering his arm for Castiel to take. The Omega does so and is then lead across the room to the long table at which the Royal Council sit. Dean and Castiel both bow briefly as they reach and are immediately greeted by a dark haired noble sat at the table’s center. 

“A fine night for a feast is it not, boys?” Sir Richard’s voice is syrupy with the haughtiness of nobility and status as he addresses the teens. His face is twisted in a smirk as sits relaxed in his high backed chair, and Dean fidgets subtly as he turns slightly to address Castiel, “Do tell me you are enjoying Faymethinan hospitallity, Omgea.”

“Yes, sir, the festivities are quite….lively,” Castiel’s attempts at politeness feel a bit strained, even to himself. Sir Richard seems not to notice though.

“Splendid, we wouldn’t want our Prince’s consort to grow tired of us before you’re even mated, now would we?” Richard gives off a laugh that only serves to make Castiel uncomfortable, before leaning forward and resting his chin on steepled hands, stating, “Speaking of mates, tell me Castiel, have you gone into heat yet?”

The Omega stammers at the question, every inch of him scarlet and hot with chagrin. Never in his life had he felt such embarrassment, it is one thing to be addressed as a consort but to be asked after his heats by someone other than his mate, especially when there is a distinct lack of them as of yet, is more humiliation than Castiel thinks he can bare. 

Sensing his companion’s discomfort, Dean stiffens and growls out, “That is enough, Roman.”

Sir Richard only chuckles again, before replying, “Apologies, my lord, twas a simple question. Though after tomorrow’s mating ceremony we won’t have to worry much longer about him lacking heats, will we?”

The look Richard sends Dean causes the prince to tense further, before he is leading Castiel away from the councilmen to a destination the prince can’t fathom to ask after in the midst of his shame.

\-------  
They are wed the following day at dusk, when the sun is closest to shore and the wind from the sea whips the flowing, snow white layers of the gown and veil Castiel wears as he waits on the cliff for his mate.

The mating customs of the West are different from his own, the small ceremony taking place outdoors among the elements, the only witnesses to their union being Castiel’s father, the members of Dean’s Council and the Sun himself, whereas mated pairs of the North are joined in grand indoor ceremonies when the Moon is at her highest point in the night’s sky.

The alpha makes his way towards the spot at which Castiel waits, kneeling at his feet. While he is dressed more modestly, as Omega’s usually are during such ceremonies, his shoulders and feet the only skin exposed, Dean attire is far more revealing. His torso and arms are bare, save for the runes and marking painted on his skin, and Castiel can see the muscles of his shoulders move as the Alpha reaches to present his sword to him. 

“Gesegnet sei der Weg, der mich führte, bevor Sie bereitwillig lag ich mein Schwert zu Füßen.” Blessed is the path that led me before you, willingly I lay my sword at your feet. The words are delivered like a hymn, soft and stern in Dean’s native tongue. He says them without hesitation, head bowed and arms outstretched, a promise to never bring harm to his mate, should the Omega accept his offer.

Castiel moves to kneels in front of the Alpha, head lowering and voice soft as he speaks. “Välsignat var stjärnorna som leder dig, välkomnar jag dig” Blessed are the stars that led you, I welcome thee. He shifts to accept the sword from Dean’s hands before handing it to his father and placing his hands on the Alpha’s now upturned palms. The warmth from them helps to calm his nerves.

The formalities continue. An elder speaks and blesses their union, Charles hands Castiel a band of chiseled silver and sapphire to be placed on Dean’s hand, Abbadon does the same with a ring of woven gold and ruby, and the two princes kneel silently with hands clasped. Just as the last rays of the sun’s light are gracing the sky, Dean and Castiel are each handed lengths of golden ribbon. They begin to bind their hands as they speak the final words of the ceremony. 

“Ich binde mich zu dir, träger, zum Schutz und zur Verfügung zu stellen, unter Sunna Love ich schwöre” I bind myself to thee, bearer, to protect and provide, under Sunna’s love I swear.

“Jag binder mig till dig, alfa, att vårda och ge under Mani kärlek gör jag svär” I bind myself to thee, alpha, to cherish and provide, under Máni’s love I swear. 

The final knot forms as the last bit of light leaves the sky, and with it their bond is set. Castiel looks up finally to meet Dean’s eyes, the subtle look of wonder reflected clear in the green orbs.

He looks at his mate for the first time. 

His Alpha.

\-------  
The scent of Omega is present even before Dean enters his chambers. 

Its fills the hall, as sweet and thick and dizzying as the of scent summer blossoms carried on the wind, and grows only stronger the closer the prince gets to his room. It pulls Dean towards his chambers with its promise of an enchanting Omega to mate and claim, driving his steps faster than he intends and draws his thoughts away from war and politics, and the news of fallen forces at the border that drew him away from the room and from his mate in the first place. The prince reaches the wooden door leading to his bed chamber, where the scent is its strongest, before he realises the hold it has on his senses and finally takes a pause to collect himself.

This is the exact behaviour he hated and had hoped to keep Castiel away from. Dean refused to become another mindless Alpha, acting on only primal instinct and the allure of a newly bonded and fertile mate. With this thought, the young prince takes a breath through his mouth, hoping to clear his head a bit, though it made little difference, before turning the handle and entering the room.

The smell of Castiel, freshly bathed and lacking the lure of even bath oils to mask his scent, is almost too much and forces Dean to pause in the doorway. It was much stronger than Dean had remembered, no longer hidden by the tang of the salt of sea nor weighed down by the heaviness of travel. Now every aspect of Castiel, from the crisp smell of mint and pine he seemed to carry about him to the sharp citrus notes that could only be his nerves, was so clear to Dean that it was overwhelming.

“My lord, you’ve returned. I hope all is well.”

The brunet spoke in a voice so small and unlike the one Dean was used to hearing that it took a moment for the Alpha to notice he had spoken at all. When he finally did fully take in the scene before him, the Western prince was again at a loss for words.

Before him sat, legs folded beneath him, in the center of his lush bed the North’s youngest son, clad in a loose fitting white tunic and little else. The fabric was so sheer that Dean could see the lines and edges of Castiel’s torso and abdomen even from the distance he’s placed himself from the bed. Despite himself, the prince’s eyes roamed along Omega’s body, following the flow of the fabric till it reached Castiel’s mid thigh where he could see the faint outline of short undergarments beneath the clothing. The prince looked away before his thoughts could stray farther than he could catch them. Their eyes met and before Dean could think to comment on the hesitant and distracted look found in Castiel’s, the other prince spoke.

“You are quiet,” the brunet turned away from the older royal, a light pink dusting his cheeks and his eyes downcast, “Are you not pleased with my attire? I was told it was the tradition of your people but if it is not to your liking than I can..” The prince began to loosen the ties at the top of the tunics, the material falling to reveal the beginnings of pale, unmarked skin and-

“Don’t!” Dean spoke suddenly halting the Omega’s words and actions. The Alpha made his way across the room finally, sitting next to his startled mate and returning his clothing to their proper order. “Don’t, please. There is no need for that tonight.” He spoke softly as he adjusted the tunic collar. 

Castiel’s expression was one of awe and embarrassment when next their eyes meet, though it was only briefly. The blue in them swam with the shame of his actions, though Dean could not conceive why. He fidgeted at the Alpha’s side, hands gripping at the hem of his shirt and head bowed. Dean places a hand on his to still the action.

“Alpha”, Dean winced slightly at the word and the weak tone in which it was spoken, “I’ve displeased you.” His hands clench and tremble beneath Dean’s own. 

Dean begins to protest, to say that he couldn’t be displeased if Castiel had done nothing wrong, but is again cut off by the Omega’s words.

“I’ve acted brashly, my manner of dress seems to be against your favour, and you have not spoken unless to scold me. I have failed in my duty to you as an Omega and as your mate, and on our bröllopsnatten of all nights. Please forgive-”

“Castiel.”

Dean’s tone was stern, putting an end to younger prince’s ramblings and drawing his attention to his mate. 

“Do not apologise for something you have not done. I am not displeased with you; you are well and safe. I could not be happier.”

“But, Alpha I-”

“Call me Dean!” The Alpha’s outburst was sudden, causing Castiel to flinch, his eyes leaving Dean’s and his posture curling away in fright. The Omega’s hands are clenched in the fabric of his clothing, knuckles as white as the fabric itself. A heavy sigh layered in guilt escapes the Alpha, his shoulders slumped as he reaches hesitantly to cup his mate’s face in his palm. Castiel allows it. 

His tone is soft when he begins again, leaning into his mate and laying his forehead against the startled omega in an effort to comfort him. “Please, when it’s….you can call me that if you must around others or in public, but here, when we’re like this….when it’s just you and I, please call me Dean….”

There is a pause, in which Castiel’s face grows heated and reddened beneath Dean’s palm, before shy, blue eyes met his own. The younger teen seems unsure about himself, as though he wants to argue against Dean’s request but can’t quite find the words. He waits patiently for Castiel to gather his thoughts, enjoying the the subtle shifts in his mate’s scent as he calms. 

The younger teen shifts, relaxing his posture and placing his smaller hand against the one gently stroking his cheek, before stating softly, “This is all so confusing, I….I’m no good at this.” He huffs at the confession, and Dean can’t help the small chuckle he gives in response. It only causes Castiel to huff again before adding, “I’ve spent so much of my life learning how to be a proper Omega, how to best….please my mate, and now you don’t even want…..”

“I want you.” Dean’s voice is so sure that his mate is too shocked to respond. The Alpha pulls away slightly, enough that their noses brush and he is able to clearly see the endearing tint of crimson on the Omega’s face. It causes a small smile to grace his face. 

“I want you the way you are. You are my mate, and I, yours, and that means more to me than ‘proper’ breeding could. All of this,” he gestures briefly to Castiel’s tunic and the state of their wedding bed, “ will wait until you, not the handmaids or the council or even I, decide that you wish for it to occur. Only you are allowed to decide such action, understood?” 

Castiel gives a small nod, still seeming unsure, and Dean places a kiss in the form of a gentle press of lips to his forehead for his efforts.

He’s is aware of Castiel’s upbringing as an Omega, had a slight understanding of what others expect of him, as well as what he himself expected, as a member of his kind. Omega’s were taught to anticipate demanding, aggressive mates when they were finally bonded, who gave them very little choice in matters outside the upbringing of children, and were given a strict rearing in order to support such lessons. His own life and upbringing as an Alpha could not compare, but Dean wanted to make an effort to prove that the idea of a “proper omega” meant nothing to him compared to Castiel’s happiness.

Part of such efforts include ensuring his mate’s comfort, and so he attempts to remove himself from the bed to make for the door leading to the hall. His intent is to sleep in another room for the night, despite the occasion, to allow his Omega some form of security. Dean is stopped though by a tug on his shirt’s hem.

“Alph- uh Dean,” the prince turns to face his mate, whose face is still flushed, “Will you stay? The nights are so different here and I am not yet used to the castle.”

Dean smiles softly before returning to Castiel’s side.

\-------  
Dean awakes the next morning, more rested than he has felt in years, to the sight of his mate curled against him.

His dark hair is sleep mussed, his lips slightly parted to draw in even breaths, fingertips peaking out from the too long sleeves of the night shirt Dean had lent him hours prior, his scent is a pleasant combination of the two of them as a result. 

All of him gives off a peacefulness that Dean was finds he wishes to keep, to never be without. 

The Alpha frees an arm from the tangle of limbs that traps it, and brushes a piece of hair gently away from his omega’s face, hoping to preserve the silence a moment longer. He has no such luck it would seem, for Castiel shuffles under the covers and gives off a sleep drunk groan before sheepishly opening his eyes to meet his bed mate’s own. Dean finds that even clouded by grogginess the Omega’s eyes are still the brightest blue he has ever had the fortune to witness.

“Hello Dean.” 

Castiel’s voice is just as sleep addled and his eyes, though he does offer his mate the drowsy semblance of a smile. Dean offers one of his own as he tangles his fingers further in Castiel’s thick locks, angling his head so he can press his lips to the younger prince’s forehead with as much effort as his sleep-drunk body can muster.

“Morning Castiel,” Dean roughly whispers as he pulls away, “Did you sleep well?”

Castiel nods his reply, moving his hand to grip his Alpha’s wrist and moving to tuck his head under Dean’s chin before heaving a content sigh and closing his eyes again. Dean laughs softly at his mate’s actions before doing the same, holding Castiel close as the Omega’s breath evens out and his does the same.

It is the first morning of many of its kind, and neither wants to change anything about it.

It marks the beginning of their lives together.

\-------  
The first months of their marriage are the happy and peaceful for the new mates, passing without event. 

They spend much of the time in each other’s company, whether it be in the gardens as Dean recounts stories of his adventures as a knight or high in the watchtower as Castiel points out each constellation and how it gained it’s place in the sky, or even in each other’s thoughts when they are not together. 

Dean takes the time to court him as if he and Castiel were any other two people in the world and not already a mated pair. The alpha’s efforts are straight out of a fairytale, walking hand in hand as they explore the parts of the castle the younger teen had yet to see and pressing soft kisses to his cheeks and hand when they travel Merrivale's busy streets. Castiel finds it endearing and does little to dissuade him.

When fall finally arrives and the blaring heat of summer finally leaves the kingdom, the two are near inseparable. 

The guards have never seen Dean so calm and happy in all his life, and Castiel’s letters to his family only grow brighter and happier as time passes. Sam gains another brother in the deal, someone to keep him company in the library as his studies and tell him stories when Dean hasn’t the time. Even the citizens of the kingdom find the change in their prince to be a positive one, rejoicing at his mating of such a ‘handsome and kind’ Omega, and gaining such power allies in the North to help protect them. All around the news of their bond seemed to bring contentment to all parties.

This peace, like most things, however is not meant to last.

Dean is called from the dining room one morning in early fall as they are eating breakfast to the meeting room in the castle’s west wing. There’s been recent movement along the area bordering unclaimed territory to the south, and it seems as though conflict has finally broken. From what Dean had told him after he returned some hours later, which was very little, they have no need to worry as their armies outnumber those of the South by a great deal. Castiel relaxed at the news, though his worries were never fully laid to rest. 

The interruptions continue, however, as the situation on the border worsens for next month, until Castiel is left waking up to a cold, empty bed instead of the warm embrace of his mate. 

On one such morning, as Castiel is dressing and doing up the last few buttons of his thick shirt, he is interrupted by a knock on the door. When he opens the door, Castiel is meet with the sight of Sam, hair a mess as it frames his face and rests against his shoulders, with a tray of sweet pastries and tea resting in his arms. Dean had taken to checking up on him through way of others as he became busier and busier, though Sam usually took up the responsibility. The omega appreciated the effort though he much preferred having Dean’s actual company.

“Älter wanted someone to bring this to you, but I didn’t trust anyone not to mess it up.” Sam says in way of greeting, making his way in to the room and placing the tray carefully on a side table, before throwing himself face first onto their bed. The boy’s hair flared wildly about his head as the Omega made his way to sit next to him, laughter softly at his antics as he went. 

Castiel rests his hand on the boy’s head, musing his hair further. “Would you like me to tie your hair for you?” 

Sam nods against the sheets, before moving to sit on the edge of the bed between Castiel’s legs.

\-------  
Things seem to quiet a little after the first conflict on the border, and Castiel is allowed to sit is in on one of the strategy meetings being held as a result.

The reinforcements the North sent helped to secure much of the area and the ensuing stalemate between the two forces is enough to put most of the kingdom’s worry to rest, Dean and Castiel included. For them it means Dean has no reason to leave Merrivale and join the battle, and that they are both safe. 

The stalemate does nothing to stop members of the council, more particularly Sir Richard, from calling for more action and more men at the border. He sees the lull in battle as something that gives their men an element of surprise over the Southern forces, whose troops are far less trained and equipped than theirs. 

Abaddon argues that sending in more troops would only cause more trouble their kingdom, especially when a civil solution is being discussioned through Crowley and the South’s chief political advisor, Lady Megara. Any action taken now would only be an act of war and could possibly throw the entire globe into warfare.

They discuss the same course of action for the better part of a week, Castiel present through all of it, until on the fourth day of arguing Dean turns to him and inquires quietly, “What do you think, Cas?”

He’s a bit startled at the question, seeing as he knows near nothing about war or politics other than what he’s seen in book and at the few of these meetings that he has attended. 

“I am not sure….I don’t know much about this sort of thing.” 

“Don’t worry about that, just tell me what your instinct says. I care to hear you opinion more than the sound of arguing councilmen,” Dean carries a bit more than he intends, and the council members take notice pausing in their discussion to hear what Castiel has to say. 

Castiel pauses for a moment to think, before stating, “Well, I agree with Sir Abaddon. In my opinion, I feel not taking action would be the best….action to take. From my understanding, you underestimated the power of the Southern armies before. What’s to say this isn’t some sort of trap to gain leverage over our forces? Diplomacy seems to be our best option….or at least that’s what I believe.”

There are mumbles of agreement around the table from each member sat, all seeming impressed with the omega’s words, though Castiel can see Richard’s scowling face from across from him. Dean does not seem to notice though as he only smiles and compliments his wit and intelligence, stating that his suggestion is a wise one. They decide on diplomacy by the end of that day’s meeting.

Castiel becomes a permanent fixture at these meeting, as does Sir Richard’s displeasure.

\-------  
Castiel finds Dean sparing some weeks later in the courtyard with one of the guards. He is on his way to the gardens where Sam had insisted they meet for tea before his afternoon lessons with Lady Mills, which is usually more cakes than tea on Sam’s part, when he spots the gleam of metal over the walled path he walks. Looking down to the stoned area in which the two men clash swords, Castiel sees that both are shirtless even as it becomes cooler and cooler with each day, their bodies gleaming with sweat from their effort. He leans against the wall on folded arms, planning to watch for a while.

Dean pauses when he spots him, a smile playing on his lips, before he’s knocked on his back by the other man, who lets out a boisterous laugh once his attack lands. Castiel makes an effort to stifle his own.

“If I had know all it took for me to beat you was a pretty faced omega, I would have found you one myself,” the guard, who Castiel now recognises as Benny, one of Dean’s personal guards and closest companion, says through another bout of laughter offering his hand to help the prince to feet, which he quickly accepts.

“Good day, my lord, to what do we owe this pleasure?” Benny calls out to the omega with a superfluous bow and a laugh still in his voice as Dean grumbles and brushes dirt from his bottoms. The guard knew there was no need for formality when it came to his sire’s mate, that both considered the other as a friend, but his teasing nature never ceased to amuse the omega.

“Good day, Sir Knight,” Castiel called back with an amused grin, “I’ve come to retrieve my husband, though it would seem that he perhaps needs practice with his sword more than he does tea.”

Benny lets out a even louder cackle as Dean pushes past him to make his way up the stone steps leading to where Castiel stood. The omega turns to face him once he’s reached the landing, and finds himself mere inches away from his mate, whose arms bracket him in place, leaning back against the stone wall. Castiel’s cheeks flush, but a mischievous grin rests on his lips. 

“You are far too distracting,” Dean’s voice is a near growl, the scent of alpha from this proximity causing Castiel to flush further. He leans in closer until their noses brush, “What shall I do with you, dear Omega?”

Castiel smirks before answering lowly, “Well perhaps you can….join me for tea?” His smirk grows as he hears the chuckle his mate gives in response. “I’ll wait for you in the garden okay?” Dean pressed kiss to the corner of his mouth before rushing off.

He doesn’t make it to the garden.

\-------  
Castiel’s head is muddled when his regains his senses, his vision swimming in and out before he is met with the sight of the dusty stone floors of one of the watchtowers. His limbs are heavy, and bound poorly behind his back. He remembers seeing Dean in the courtyard, making his way toward the garden and then hearing someone or something move behind him before his mind blanks. There was a struggle, he thinks, something sharp smelling was pressed against his face. The omega twists his hands weakly, if he could only free his hand-

“Well, look who’s awake, nice of you to join us your majesty,” Sir Richard’s voice sounds behind him, before a swift, hard kick to his side flips him onto his back. It’s strong enough that a hiss escape his clenched teeth. Richard smiles at that, a twisted sour look.

“What? Haven’t you anything to say now Castiel? I was sure after speaking so much with the council, opposing my every word, you’d have more than enough to say. You know, it was so easy to manipulate those fools, especially with a dead king. That was before you, of course, with your talk of peace and omega stink clouding the alpha prince’s instincts,” Richard’s smirks then, “Though I haven’t to worry about that much longer, now do I.” 

He kicks Castiel again, harder this time before kneeling in front of him.

“Would you like to know a secret Castiel?” Richard leans closer to the prince’s face, he scent heavy and it makes the Omega gag, his voice a raspy whisper, “I’m going to get rid of you, then I’ll return to kill your grieving mate. And then the kingdom will be mine, and so will the rest of them.”

They can hear the clammering of footstep on the stairs across the room before a call of “Castiel!”. Richard pulls him swiftly to his feet, the omega’s vision swimming again. He feels the chill of metal against his neck as his eyes return to focus.

“My would you look at what we have here,” Richard growls as he presses the danger further the Castiel’s throat, the metal gleaming. Were it not for the drug still in his blood he would have made more of an effort to struggle away, “Has the hero prince come to rescue his schlampe of a mate?”

Behind his mate are Benny and another knight, swords already brandished and ready. He hears Dean growl deep in throat, “Let him go!” The clank of his sword resounds throughout the room, a clear threat. Dean shuffle towards them.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Richard chuckles in, pressing the knife harder to the omega’s throat, a bead of blood pearling along the blade. The Alpha halts his movements, “I wouldn’t try that if I were you. Omegas are ever so fragile.” He laughs again and the sound causes a frightened shiver to slide down Castiel’s back. He moves his wrists, feeling the rope loosen again, enough to free his hand.

Dean pauses, lowering his saber and ordering the others to do the same. None of them makes a move to stop Richard as he shuffles toward the stairs with Castiel in his arms. His grip loosens and he moves, confident in his victory, and the prince chooses this moment to strike.

The omega throws his head back swiftly, crashing it against his capturer. Richard lets out a cry of pain, dropping his blade to clutch at his aching head. Despite his state, Castiel moves quickly, retrieving the knife and driving it deep in the man’s thigh. They both collapse, Richard in pain and Castiel in exhaustion.

“Castiel!” Dean rushes to crouch at his side. Richard lies withering on the cobblestone, groaning as he grips his bleeding leg as Benny and his fellow guard move to retrieve him. Dean drops his saber in favour of cupping his mate’s face in his hands, “Are you okay? Please be okay, please….”

Castiel’s head swims a little, his eyes are clouded slightly as a result, but when his eyes meet Dean’s he feels safe. He raises a weak hand and places it over his mate’s, offering a weak smile. 

“Hello Dean.”

Dean returns a relieved one of his own, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s allowing a few stray tears to fall.

“Hey Cas.”

They kiss, a press of lips full of relief and hope and safety.

And all is well.

**Author's Note:**

> Link to the slammin' art: [Serenada](http://serenada-art.livejournal.com/45992.html)  
> Link to my other works/art: [My Tumblr](artisel.tumblr.com)


End file.
